


Shine Bright Like a Diamond

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (quite a stretch in this fandom), Alpha Centauri - Freeform, Creation, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Garden of Eden, Gen, Heaven & Hell, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-22 23:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20000173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Raphael's fingers itched. They wanted to create, to make something, to grow – but there was no growth, in Heaven. And creating was the job of the Creator.So he watched. And because most of the angels were boring as anything, he watched Aziraphale. Hopping from group to group, lending a hand, an ear, a wing. Always helpful, always pleasant. Always alone.





	Shine Bright Like a Diamond

**Author's Note:**

> I am an ignorant mess when it comes to both religion and astronomy, so if you know these subjects, I apologise, and feel free to wince. Wikipedia can only take me so far. 
> 
> Title from Rihanna :)

He was a Principality, Raphael knew. Technically, that put him slightly higher than Archangel on the pecking order, but as Principalities as of yet had nothing to preside _over_ , they tended to be viewed as useless lumps. Powerful, but lazy.

He didn't think this one was. 

This Principality flitted about, nose in everyone's business, wings crooking with interest at each new development. He offered  _help_ . And not just to seraphim and cherubim, but right down to malakhim1.

Raphael watched him.

–

Aziraphale. It had taken many moons (were such things to exist just yet), but eventually he had come up in casual conversation and Raphael had been able to learn his name.

“He's so fussy,” complained Michael. 

“Fussy?”

“Yes.” Michael gave him a long, considering look. When there is no such thing as time, there is no rush, after all. “He fidgets,” she finally expanded.

“Oh.”

Michael flew away soon after. Raphael stayed. He wasn't sure what was so wrong with someone who fidgeted.

–

If there was one thing he would say about Heaven, it was this: was it ever _boring_.

Raphael frowned. Language needed something more, some way to express displeasure. A shorthand. The opposite of a blessing2.

–

Angels didn't have hobbies, as such, but they did, to some meaning of the word, have time to fill. Some sang, heavenly harmonies that swelled and built, weaving joy, and happiness and light until they burned in the chest like potassium in water. Some meditated on the goodness of God. Raphael stared into the blank void beyond. 

His fingers itched. They wanted to create, to make something, to grow – but there was no growth, in Heaven. And creating was the job of the Creator3.

So he watched. And because most of the angels were boring as anything, he watched Aziraphale. Hopping from group to group, lending a hand, an ear, a wing. Always helpful, always pleasant. Always alone.

–

Raphael wanted to say hello. He watched Aziraphale fly about and something swelled in his throat with how much he wanted to, blocking any chance of sound. He knew that this one – he would talk back. Not just aimless words, but meaning – he would answer questions, he would debate, he would make time – time that was not yet a concept – fly.

But the other angels... they laughed at Aziraphale. 

And the swelling rose, like a warning. Not this one, it seemed to say. 

So Raphael watched.

–

“I have a special assignment for you,” God promised, and it felt like redemption.

And so Raphael flew; forming fire from chaos into beauty, sparkling dots in the sea of nothingness from where they all came. It was lonely work, distanced from the Host, from the angels, from... Aziraphale. He poured all of that awful feeling into their placement, like a painter who mixes powder with tears. Stars, She called them. His creation; stars that eventually would inspire, would humble, would give hope. They were for the world, when the world came into being.

He crafted one nebula for himself. Two burning, sun-like stars, orbiting forever; a reminder4.

–

Aziraphale came to him. 

“Well, they really are marvellous. This was what She sent you to do?” Aziraphale stared at his stars, multiple eyes manifesting to take in more, wings crooking as they always do when he's fascinated. “Sheer beauty, my dear. They are like Heaven re-made.”

He should say something. He tucked his hair behind one ear, and crooked a shy smile. “Yes, it was me.”

“No one could have done it better.”

–

He's not sure Aziraphale knew his name, but he clung to those words later, as he spiralled downwards and landed, softly enough, fall broken by a pool of water. 

When he raised his head, he saw the others, and felt the hollow space inside where there should be – something.

He knows what happened, and he howls.

–

Much, much later, he is changed. He is Crawly now, but he is in a Garden, and he doesn't mind this snake shape which soaks up the heat of the newly formed Sun and eases away all pains. He is surrounded by plants, a most marvellous invention of Hers, and he twines himself around, tickled by cool green fronds.

Yes, if this is Earth, it is good5. Much better than Hell.

And he is here, Aziraphale. Stationed far away, roaming, nothing changed in his endless movement except contained now to pacing up and down the great wall. But here. In sight. Crooking his wings with interest when an insect or bird flies up to say hello.

Eventually, Crawly will have to get on with the job. But for now, he will take his time. And watch.

1Angels of men, so as of yet, also useless lumps.

2Leave it with him, he'll get there eventually.

3If She ever got around to it.

4And a third star, dim but visible to an angelic eye, to deflect suspicion. He's not stupid.

5Blaspheming as a demon is surely to be encouraged? To be bad, after all, is to be good at being a demon? Whatever. He does what he wants, these days.


End file.
